A Most Wonderful Revelation
by Ponygirl7
Summary: This, my friends, is a Flygirl fanfiction which I once wrote as a school assignment. I have my doubts as to its ever being read, but who knows? Perhaps I will be proven wrong. At any rate, this short conclusion to Sherri L. Smith's novel is sweet and a bit of a surprise. Enjoy!
**A Flygirl Fanfiction A Most Wonderful Revelation**

I fingered the small piece of paper, an object that had been tormenting my mind for the past few days. In reply to my letter, Walt had sent me this one tiny item: a train ticket. I'm not sure where it'll take me, but I trust Walt...right? Yes. I trust Walt. So here I am, seated in a luxurious first-class train car, a place I know I shouldn't be. My place isn't upon velvet cushions and leather armrests. I belong in Dad's old Jenny, soaring over the strawberry fields on the colored side of Slidell. But now Walt knows me for who I am. He wouldn't put me in danger. Whatever reason he has for sending me wherever I'm going, I'm sure it's a good one.

The ticketmaster stops at my seat. "Ticket, ma'am?" I hand him my slip of paper. "Thank you, sir. And it's 'miss', actually." Mrs. Walter Jenkins flits through my mind, but I dismiss it with a roll of the eyes. The ticketmaster moves on, but my thoughts stay with me. They drift to my family, and their stricken faces haunt me. I left them standing in front of the house; coloreds couldn't come with a white woman to the train station. For I am a white woman now; I could be nothing else in the presence of a white man. A handsome, charming white man...no! No. What am I thinking? I mustn't allow my thoughts to run away like that. Perhaps if I don't dwell on the hopelessness of my chances with Walt, the pain won't be as sharp. I lean back against the plush cushions and close my eyes. Mama's worried expression appears. She is wary of Walt, and disapproves of my connection to him. Then there's Tom's sorrowful gaze; he doesn't understand why his Clayfoot would leave him, leave _home_ for some train that'll take me who knows where. Jolene didn't even say goodbye. She is miffed at me. We haven't seen eye-to-eye since that day in the hairdresser's. If only I could make her understand But I can't.

Abel hugged me long and hard, tears streaming down his face. But at least he smiles through his tears and says that he trusts me. "I'll miss you, Ida," he whispers, lower lip trembling, "But I trust you. You'll come back, won't you?" I open my mouth to reply, but what can I say? Even _I_ don't know. Walt sent nothing but the ticket. No explanation, no nothing. I gulp down my fears and manage a smile. "Don't worry. I'll always be in Slidell. Right here." I touch his heart. He grips my hand. I hope he doesn't realize that I've sidestepped his question, a question I can't answer.

Then there's Grandy. His hug is warm and comforting, his familiar gasoline aroma reassuring me. His gravelly voice whispers into my hair, "Be smart, baby girl. And be safe." It's all he says, but I take it to heart. I will be smart. I will be safe. But, as I've learned in my experience as a WASP, such things are easier said than done.

The train trip is over nine hours so far. If I'm going to California, it'll be even longer. But am I going to California? Why oh why is Walt being so secretive? I don't like secrets. The thought brings a wry smile to my face. I, a skinny little colored girl who has for years passed as an elegant white lady, don't like secrets. But mine was a noble cause; I wanted to help my country, and I wanted to fly! Oh, to feel the wind rushing at me, exhilaration coursing through my veins, breaking that burdensome chain between me and the earth, being _free_. But I digress. Why could not Walt tell me where I'm going? How did he even know I would come? Train tickets are not cheap. Why would he pay for my fare? Does he think that because I'm colored, my family is poor? That we're inferior to everyone else? No. I frown. My Walt wouldn't think that. No. Not my Walt. Just _Walt_.

Lost in my thoughts, I don't realize we're coming to a halt. But, slow and steady, the train eases to a gentle stop, clean and smooth as any plane. For a moment I wonder if the train conductors feel the same way about operating this vehicle as I feel about flying. Then I laugh. No, trains hardly give the rush of adrenaline that planes give. But I haven't much time to ponder it; people are already beginning to exit the train. I arise from my seat, eager to stretch my legs. A sign outside the window catches my eye: Rockport, Texas. I rack my brain for any information this name brings to me. If I remember my geography correctly, Rockport is a small town in southern Texas on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. Of course, it's been so many years since my last geography lesson that I could be completely mistaken, but that's all that comes to mind.

So, Texas, hm? A little voice whispers in the back of my mind that Walt used to live in Texas. But he was planning on going out to California to start a flying business. Had he cancelled his plans because of me? Questions stampede through my mind like a herd of wild Mustangs. Impossible what-ifs torture me. But there's no time to think; I have to get off this train. There are no bags for the porter. The only luggage I brought is the small suitcase I kept beside me the entire way. Now I take it up in my sweaty palm and make my way out of the train.

The train station is busy. People mill about, calling out names and waving to folks they haven't seen in ten years. I feel small and shy amidst so many people. I want to crawl back onto the train and go right back home. But Walt brought me here, and I must look for him. Surely he has come to find me. But where? I crane my neck, looking for some glimpse of his tall, sturdy frame. Then I self-consciously look myself over. My dress, my only nice dress, is wrinkled. I wonder if he has an iron. But of course I won't stay at his house, I remind myself. I'll stay at a hotel. That is, if I stay at all. I didn't put on much makeup, so I know I don't look very pretty. My hair remained smooth and wavy throughout the trip, almost as if it has gotten used to passing as white and denies all knowledge of African heritage. The thought makes the heat in my face rise.

Perhaps Walt is waiting outside of the train station. I suppose it can't do any harm to look. So, mustering my courage, I brave the crowds and zigzag out of the station. Here it is less crowded, and I let out a sigh I didn't realize I'd been holding. Here at least I have the sunny blue sky overhead and a crisp, clean breeze. I inhale the balmy Texas air, something I haven't tasted since Sweetwater. A wistful heart-wrenching feeling makes my gaze grow distant. I think of the good old days at the base with Patsy and Lily, the Three Musketeers. I bite my lip to keep from crying.

"Ida! Ida Mae!" A voice sounds behind me. A hearty, deep voice. I spin around to see Walt, my Walt. No, not my Walt, I scold myself. He welcomes me with a solid hug, a refreshing change from my solitary train ride. When I pull back, I study him. He doesn't seem any different from when I last saw him, and he doesn't act any differently towards me. For a moment my heart stops and I wonder if he even received my letter. Almost as if he could read my mind, he smiles and says, "I got your letter." I tense. "And I have something to tell you," he continues. "Ida, I'd like you to meet my mother." I didn't realize anyone else was here, but now I notice a small, plump woman standing behind Walt. And in that moment, everything changes. Now I know where he gets his twinkling eyes. And his gentle, curving smile, the smile that turned my life upside down. But there's one thing he didn't inherit from his mother.

Mrs. Jenkins is colored.

I can't breathe. My heart pounds so loudly I'm afraid everyone in the train station will hear. My knees buckle. I clutch Walt's arm. He readily supports me, waiting for my response. "I...I…" I stammer like a fool. What does this mean? Walt is colored? But he can't be! His skin is so fair...fair like mine, I realize. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ida Mae. I've heard so much about you." Mrs. Jenkins holds out a hand. I grasp it, beginning to smile. But a handshake isn't enough. I pull Mrs. Jenkins into a hug. When I step back, I am beaming like a newly polished airplane. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Jenkins." I say, eyes glowing with excitement.

"Well then, now that that's settled," Walt says, taking my arm again, "Let's get you to the car. We'll drive you home." Slidell pops into my mind, but I realize that Walt's talking about his home. I feel like I'm dreaming. He takes my suitcase in one hand and my hand in the other, and we walk slowly to the parking lot. Mrs. Jenkins bustles ahead of us, chocolate skin gleaming in the sun. "My father was white," Walt said. "I didn't want to pass, but I had to help my country. I had to fly." His words are familiar. Usually I don't hear them coming from other people; I speak them. "But why didn't you tell me?" I protest. "Then I could've—then we could've—" I don't know how to say it. Walt understands. He always understands. "But I thought you were a white girl," he reminds me. True. "So...what does this mean now?" I ask, looking up at him.

Walt stops walking and turns to face me. "That depends," he says slowly, brown eyes penetrating mine. "On what?" I ask. Our voices are reduced to a whisper. We're so close I can feel his warm breath. A gentle breeze caresses our faces. He seems to read the emotions in my eyes, and before I can fully comprehend what is happening, his lips meet mine in a soft, perfect kiss. Though my feet are on the ground, my heart is soaring. "On that," Walt murmurs. I smile, eyes dancing with merriment. "Well, if _that_ 's all that's troubling you," And I slide my arms around his neck and kiss him. Everything is right with the world. My heart is overflowing with joy. When I pull away my cheeks are flushed and my smile is dreamy. Slowly, a grin spreads across Walt's handsome face.

He takes my hand and bends down on one knee. My breath catches in my throat as he clears his. "Ida Mae Jones," he says solemnly, dark eyes shining with love, "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife." Mrs. Walt Jenkins. I don't hesitate. Why should I?

"Sir, yes, sir!"

A/N: If this is ever read:

Quite honestly, I am unsure as to whether or not this fanfiction will ever be read. _Flygirl_ is a rather obscure book that I once read in middle school, and until then, I had never even heard of it. I had written this as an assignment, but until now I didn't consider publishing it. At any rate, if there is anyone out there reading this, you have my full commendation.

Ponygirl7, over and out!


End file.
